


Beautiful and Sweet

by QuinTalon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinTalon/pseuds/QuinTalon
Summary: Neville Longbottom was eleven when he first met Hermione Granger on the train to Hogwarts. She was his first friend, his dearest friend. Then she became so much more.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 41
Kudos: 125
Collections: Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest, The Music Words Make





	Beautiful and Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NuclearNik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/gifts).



> The happiest of birthdays to my darling, wonderful, amazing friend NuclearNik! I hope you know how much you and our friendship means to me. You make my life better by being in it. I love you, sweet friend!
> 
> Many thanks to mcal for reading this over for me and for being the best cheerleader out there. Your encouragement means the world to me.
> 
> Grammarly was my beta so please forgive my extraneous use of commas and any errors I missed.
> 
> This fic was loosely inspired by the song Perfect by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, they just were kind enough to help me tell this story.

* * *

* * *

They met their first year at Hogwarts, one hour into the train ride in fact. Eager to make friends, Neville had pulled Trevor from his cage to show the other boys in his compartment. He was proud of his pet, a large toad given to him by his Great Uncle Algie after Neville had finally demonstrated that he did indeed have magic. Holding the fat toad gently in his hands as he offered to show the boy sitting next to him, Neville startled when the door to the compartment slid open noisily and Trevor leapt at the opportunity to escape. 

Literally.

Croaking loudly, Trevor sprung from Neville’s hands, hopped between the legs of the girl in the doorway, and sped down the corridor.

“Trevor!” Neville cried in dismay.

“Oh no,” the newcomer squeaked. “I’m so sorry! I’ll help you find him.”

They shared an awkward introduction and set off to find Neville’s fugitive toad. By the time they stepped off the train, Trevor in hand, Neville had found a new friend in Hermione Granger.

He was both astounded and relieved when he had been sorted into Gryffindor, silently pleading with the Sorting Hat to place him there. He wanted to make his parents proud, prove to his family that he was worthy—and he wanted to be in the same house as the friendly girl with the crazy curls and bright smile.

He was a bit sad and only slightly jealous when Hermione began to spend more and more time with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley after Halloween that first year. But she seemed happy, so he was happy for her. Besides, she always made time for Neville, encouraging him to study with her in the library and sit with the trio at meals.

* * *

Their friendship continued to grow over the years. Harry and Ron may have become Hermione’s best friends, but Neville would always be her first friend. She told him many times that he would always hold that distinction and that it was a very important and special title.

Neville relished the time he spent with Hermione. He never felt like a bumbling oaf with her. She never made him feel stupid or awkward, despite the fact that she was a genius and was growing more beautiful each day.

It wasn’t until the Yule Ball their fourth year that Neville had the startling revelation that he fancied his dear friend.

She had looked beautiful that night—her slight frame wrapped in periwinkle silk, her hair a golden chestnut, and her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. Neville had watched with the rest of the students when the Triwizard Champions entered the Great Hall with their dates, had grinned widely when Hermione walked past and sent him a shy little wave. 

They had met up by the refreshment table hours later, both needing a break from the throng of teenagers on the dance floor. They found an empty table and chatted while their respective dates were otherwise occupied—Ginny dancing with a Ravenclaw in her year, and Viktor helping a fellow Durmstrang student back to their quarters after having imbibed just a bit too much of the ‘special’ punch.

As a new song began to play—the soothing melody and gravelly voice unfamiliar to Neville—Hermione gasped and clapped in delight. “Oh, I love this song!”

She stood and offered her hand. “Come dance with me, Neville. Please?”

Neville had quickly accepted and allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor. They didn’t speak as they swayed back and forth to the music, Hermione humming along as the singer crooned about a wonderful world. As he looked down at her, he felt his heart stutter at the peaceful and contented look on her face. She was so lovely, he’d always thought so. But at that moment, in his arms, she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever had the privilege to witness. And he knew that he cared for her as more than a friend. So much more.

Despite being a Gryffindor, Neville could not muster the courage to close the distance between them and press his lips to hers, to tell her how much he admired and fancied her, that he wanted to be hers. So when the song ended, much too soon for his liking, he escorted her back to her date waiting on the edge of the dancefloor and bid her goodnight. She had planted a sweet kiss on his cheek and thanked him for humoring her with the dance.

Neville had practically floated back to the common room, his hand pressed to his cheek and a stunned smile on his face.

* * *

  
  


A few weeks later, Neville sat in Gryffindor Tower, enjoying a winning streak against Dean and Seamus in a rather cutthroat game of Exploding Snap. It was a Saturday and due to the heavy snow outside, the common room was bustling—Harry and Ron were hunched over a board of Wizard Chess, Lavender and Parvati were giggling together over something in Witch Weekly, the twins were entertaining a group with the tale of their most recent prank against a poor unsuspecting Ravenclaw, and Hermione was across the room working on a Charms essay. 

The room was buzzing with the sound of shouts, laughter, cards detonating, and the crackling of the old wireless in the corner. For just a moment, there was a lull in the din, allowing the strains of a song to reach Neville’s ears. He recognized it instantly as the one he and Hermione had danced to. He turned to look at her and met her eye as she beamed at him. An idea struck him and he stood to make his way to her. He may not be able to express his feelings to her yet, but he could do this.

“Oi,” Seamus called. “We’re in the middle of a game, Nev.” 

Without looking back, he called over his shoulder. “Deal me out, mate.”

He quickly made his way across the room and grinned down at Hermione when he reached her. “May I have this dance, madam?”

She let out a delightful giggle and took his offered hand, giving a little curtsey when she stood. “Of course, good sir.”

He twirled her around as best he could in the cramped space between the table and wall, before swaying back and forth in exaggerated movements. They stumbled and laughed through the song, gaining them strange looks and rolled eyes from their fellow Housemates. 

When the song ended, Hermione wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you, Neville.”

“My pleasure, Hermione.”

They drifted back to their corners, both with a soft smile.

* * *

After that day, anytime the song Neville now jokingly called _theirs_ came on, he would stop whatever he was doing, pull Hermione to him, and dance with her. 

It became a tradition. No matter where they were or who they were with, they danced. It always brought a smile to Hermione’s face, and so at times when she was stressed or sad, Neville had on occasion subtly waved his wand towards the wireless and acted surprised when their song began to play. He was certain Hermione was aware of his little trick, but she never let on, always smiling up at him as they spun. 

Neville loved that smile and did what he could to have it grace her face as often as possible.

Then the war happened. Death Eaters found their way into Hogwarts at the end of sixth year, Dumbledore was killed, and everything fell apart.

Hermione had pulled him to a hidden alcove covered by an old tapestry after the Headmaster’s memorial service. She waved her wand, casting a spell he was unfamiliar with. “ _Muffliato._ ”

“Hermione, what—” 

Shaking her head, Hermione put a hand up to stop him. “I’m sorry, Neville. Harry and Ron are expecting me soon. I just… I wanted to tell you that I may not…” She reached for Neville’s hand, closing her eyes for a moment. “I couldn’t leave without letting you know that I may not be back next year.”

Neville’s heart had pounded in his chest, an ever increasingly familiar sense of dread filling him. And he knew.

“You’re going to help Harry on some heroic, dangerous, and possibly stupid mission, aren’t you?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she pressed her lips together. Neville gave her hand a squeeze. 

“I understand if you can’t tell me. You probably shouldn’t have even told me this much, right?”

Hermione nodded, both her hands now clinging to his.

Neville sighed and pulled her into a hug. “Just tell me. Will you being there make a difference? Will it help?”

He felt her nod against his chest and for a moment, Neville let the fear for his friend, for the girl he had fancied for years, flood through him. He crushed her more firmly against his chest, holding on to her for as long as he could.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful? Please.” His voice was hoarse with unshed tears, but he didn’t care. This was Hermione, his dearest friend, and she would never tease or hold it against him.

“I promise.” Hermione pulled back and cupped his cheek with one hand, her red-rimmed eyes staring into his. “Promise me too, Neville. Promise you’ll take care of yourself?”

Neville nodded and in a momentary burst of courage, pressed his lips to her forehead. “I promise,” he muttered against her skin.

Then she was gone and he didn’t see her for over a year.

* * *

Stepping out of the tunnel into Aberforth’s room to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione there—more than a bit worse for wear but alive—Neville had almost crumpled to the floor in relief. His only thought was _she’s alive, she’s here, Hermione’s alive_. He had rushed them, throwing his arms around each of them, proclaiming that he knew they’d come. If he held onto Hermione a bit tighter and longer than the others, if it sounded like she held back a sob against his chest, it didn’t matter. He knew the final battle of the war was upon them.

Neville only saw glimpses of her during the grueling hours that followed. It wasn’t until the rays of the early morning sun shone down on the smoldering remnants of the school turned battlefield that he saw her again. Her hair, matted with blood and dirt, whipped about wildly as the wind from the lake danced around her. She looked glorious standing there with her face lifted to the sky, an avenging angel. 

He soaked in the sight of her, his heart lighter than it had been in a year. He began to take a step towards her when a hand clapped his shoulder. Ron cast a tired smile at him as he walked past.

Neville watched with mixed feelings while the girl he fancied, his dear friend, was swept into the arms of another. The two clung to each other as if they were each other’s buoy in a stormy sea, struggling to stay afloat as the waves of grief and pain crashed against joy and relief. Neville turned away when Ron cradled Hermione’s face and slowly lowered his lips to hers.

While his heart ached for his lost opportunity, Neville pushed it aside. Hermione was happy and alive, and that’s all that mattered now. So when the couple joined the rest of their friends in the Great Hall hand in hand, Neville was the first to smile at her and offer a quiet, “About time.”

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts months later to repeat his seventh year had been bittersweet for Neville. The castle he loved had become tainted with the memories of his time there the previous year and those last hours before the light had claimed victory over the dark. There were reminders of what happened everywhere, both the horrible and the happy. Despite the dark thoughts that took over most everyone involved in the war from time to time, life was definitely brighter now.

Hermione returned, still dating Ron, though he and Harry had decided to accept the new Minister’s offer to begin Auror training instead of completing their schooling. What need did they have of N.E.W.T.s when they had defeated a Dark Lord?

Neville was dating someone as well. Hannah Abbott had come as a pleasant surprise over the summer. He had run into her in Diagon Alley one afternoon and she invited him to join her for ice cream. They had talked for hours over their melted treats and when the sun dipped under the horizon, Neville asked if he could take her to dinner. They had owled or seen each other nearly every day after that. 

Hannah was all-around lovely—friendly, kind, funny, and just the right amount of shy. Neville enjoyed her company immensely. They had only kissed a time or two, both cautious of moving too quickly, both wanting to just take their time and enjoy each other. 

She put up with his newfound celebrity status amongst the students with grace and humor, teasing him about being the ‘heroic snake slayer.’ Having girls batting their eyes at him and sending tokens was a new and somewhat terrifying experience for Neville. He was proud of what he had done in the war, but he didn’t want the attention he was gaining from it.

As his relationship with Hannah quietly sailed along, his friendship with Hermione deepened. The three often studied together, huddled over stacks of notes and books in the library, and it was common to see them seated together at meals with some of their other friends. When he was able to convince her to put down her quill, Hermione would also occasionally join Neville and Hannah outside by the lake or in the shared Eighth Year common room. 

One evening as he was chatting with Hannah, Dean, Ernie, and Hermione, _their_ song came on. Neville looked at Hermione from his spot on the floor and chuckled. He hopped up and pulled her from the armchair she had claimed as her own at the start of the year. He twirled her around the room, being sure to spin and dip her a few times, to the delight of their friends. Her adorable giggles went straight to his heart and the muscle clenched at the sound. Then it stopped altogether for the length of a breath and resumed beating at a frantic pace. The feelings he thought he had buried back in May surged forward and almost overwhelmed him. He figured he might always fancy her somewhat, but what he was feeling now was no mere schoolboy fancy of his childhood friend.

How did he not notice he had gone and fallen in love with her? 

The realization shocked him and he stumbled clumsily, almost bringing them tumbling down to the floor. Thankfully he was not known for his smooth dancing skills and was able to pass it off as just being too enthusiastic in his endeavor to make Hermione laugh. But when the song ended and he returned to his spot next to Hannah, he noticed a calculating look in her eye.

A week later when he apologetically let Hannah know he could not continue with their relationship, she was not surprised. In fact, she kissed his cheek and with a sad smile murmured, “I know, Neville. It’s okay. I understand.” 

He hugged her and as they parted asked, “I know it’s a cliche, but do you think we could be friends again someday? Even though this didn’t go as we planned?”

Hannah graced him with the shy smile he loved and nodded. “Yeah, I think we can.”

That night at dinner, he caught Hannah surreptitiously watching Ernie and he recognized himself in the look in her eyes. Two months later, Ernie had proudly escorted Hannah to Hogsmeade for their first date.

After ending things with Hannah, Neville spent most of his time with Hermione. And it was exquisite torture. He relished the hours he was able to spend by her side, no matter what they were doing. Despite the fact that she was dating Ron—a good friend of his, Neville had to remind himself on occasion, a decent bloke he liked and respected—and would never return his feelings, Neville allowed himself to fall even deeper in love with her. 

He couldn’t help it. He knew that no person was perfect, but she came damn close in his opinion. Her hair, her eyes, her smile, her laugh, her kindness, her brain—Merlin, her brain. He thought she was gorgeous, inside and out. He knew he was headed for heartache and pain, but it was worth it. She was worth it.

* * *

Christmas hols came upon them before Neville was quite ready for them. The rush of end of term projects and exams had taken up the majority of his time. He was looking forward to going home, seeing his grandmother, and even the traditional visit to his parents. He knew they didn’t understand, but he always felt better when he could share his life with them. He knew he would most likely whisper his feelings for Hermione to his mother. He always told her about his dearest friend and he liked to think she enjoyed the stories.

His trunk was packed and ready to go, Trevor was securely in his cage, and Neville was rushing through his breakfast, eager to meet Hermione in the entrance hall. They planned to share a carriage to the station. He stood as he drank the last of his tea, the cup clanking against the table as he set it down carelessly, already stepping away from the table.

Hermione was waiting for him, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She smiled brightly as he approached and Neville’s heart swelled knowing she was genuinely happy to see him. He bowed and offered his elbow to her. “May I escort you to the carriages, good lady?”

She laughed—oh, what a sweet sound that was—and wrapped her arm around his. “Why, I would be delighted.”

They chatted happily about their holiday plans, making the walk feel very short indeed. They shared a carriage with a group of third year Ravenclaws girls, who giggled, whispered, and sent Neville not-so-subtle glances—much to Hermione’s delight and Neville’s annoyance.

She teased him about his little fan club when they met up with Ginny and Luna on the train platform, the four of them then joining Seamus and Dean in their usual compartment. The journey to King’s Cross passed pleasantly, filled with talking, laughter, games, and snacks.

Hermione pulled Neville into a hug when they parted at the station, Ron, Harry, and Mrs. Weasley waiting for her and Ginny. He made sure to wave at his former dormmates, but apparated away before he could see Hermione’s reunion with her boyfriend.

The days leading up to Christmas passed slowly, most of Neville’s time spent with his grandmother or working in his greenhouse. Christmas day, as was tradition, was spent at St. Mungo’s visiting his parents and a few of the other long-term patients in the Janus Thickey ward. 

Two days later, Neville received an owl from Hermione asking to meet at The Leaky Cauldron for lunch. It was an unexpected invitation, but he accepted readily, excited to see her before the start of term. He dressed with care, rolling his eyes at himself for trying to look good for lunch with a friend. His very beautiful, very unavailable friend.

He arrived a few minutes early, hoping to secure them a booth, only to shake his head when he spotted her curls. He should not have been surprised that Hermione had beaten him there. 

Stepping up to the booth, a teasing quip about her punctuality on the tip of his tongue, Neville stopped short as he took in her appearance. Her head was bowed, eyes staring unseeing at the table, hand absent-mindedly toying with the napkin in front of her. She looked wilted, tired, and far removed from the cheerful witch he had seen a few short days ago. 

Neville placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Hermione?”

She jumped slightly, startled, and lifted red-rimmed eyes to meet his. Neville sucked in a breath at the pain reflected in her brown eyes. “Oh Hermione, what happened?”

Hermione swallowed and opened her mouth to speak, her eyes casting around the pub. “Neville, can… can I take you somewhere? I-I don’t want to… not here.”

“Of course. Wherever you want to go.”

She nodded and slid out of the booth, taking his hand to lead him to the apparition point. She held on tightly and spun, pulling him into the pressing blackness. They arrived moments later in a copse of trees. Hermione tugged his hand and Neville followed her to a nearby path. They walked in silence for a few minutes until Hermione turned off the path and around a large oak tree where a small bench was sheltered under the low hanging branches. They sat together, Hermione keeping hold of Neville’s hand. She leaned back, eyes closed, taking deep breaths.

Neville allowed her time, knowing she would speak when she was ready.

“Ron and I broke up.”

Fighting the initial rush of relief the news brought, Neville squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”

And he was. He may have not liked seeing the two of them together, but he wanted her happy.

“Me, too.”

Neville gently pulled his hand from hers, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. He pressed a kiss to her curls and grasped her hand with his free one, his thumb running slow circles over the back of her hand.

Hermione leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “We’ve drifted apart these past few months. We’ve written, of course, but it’s not the same as seeing each other nearly every day. I guess…” She took a shuddering breath, her voice dropping to almost a whisper like she was sharing a secret. “He was who I thought I wanted for so long, I had built up the perfect relationship in my head. Two friends who fell deeply in love and lived happily ever after. But in reality… we were never more than friends who sometimes shared an awkward kiss. I love Ron, I always will, but he’s not the man for me, as much as I wish he was. I know breaking up is for the best. Neither of us were happy, we were forcing a relationship where there wasn’t one. But—” She broke off with a sob. “But it still hurts. My heart hurts—for me, for my best friend, for the loss of a future I thought I wanted.”

Tears were freely flowing down her face now. Neville pulled her even closer, wrapping her in his arms and tucking her head under his chin. He held her close as she sobbed, pressing occasional kisses to her head and running his hand up and down her back.

Eventually, her sobs slowed and her breathing calmed. Neville continued to hold her, trying to provide what little comfort he could. She gave one last sniff and snaked her arm around his waist.

“Thank you. For meeting me and letting me wail all over you. Sorry about your shirt.”

Neville shrugged, chuckling lightly. “It’s fine. I have others.”

She nodded against his chest, seemingly comfortable staying in his arms, something Neville was not going to complain about.

“But really, thank you. You were the first person I wanted to see after it happened. I mean, Harry would have been there for me if I asked but I knew Ron would need him. And that’s fine, I don’t begrudge him that. You go to your best friend in times like this. Ron has Harry, and I have you.” She squeezed him and looked up with a smile.

Neville grinned down at her, feeling simultaneously honored at being considered her best friend and frustrated at being _only_ her friend. “I’m glad you came to me. I hope you know I will always be there for you. Any time.”

“I know.”

They remained in each other’s arms, quietly talking about Neville’s holiday so far, keeping the conversation away from the reason they were there. Neville was content to stay there the rest of the day, but his stomach had other ideas and growled loudly.

Hermione pulled away with a giggle. “I’m sorry. We missed lunch. We should get you some food before your growling scares the birds.”

“We could go back to the Leaky, if you want. Will you be returning to the Burrow after?”

“No, I think I may just go back to Hogwarts early. I know I’m still welcome, but I… well, I would rather not go back right now.”

“Oh. You could… I mean would you like…” Neville sighed and shook his head. _Just ask her, you knob._ “Would you like to come stay with me and Gran? We’ve plenty of room and I know she’d enjoy the company.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be an inconvenience?”

“Of course not. We’d love to have you. Please say you’ll come. It would make the rest of the hols much more fun.”

Hermione bit her lip and Neville could tell she was still unsure.

“Did I mention we have a collection of rare herbology books? Gran’s been collecting them the past few years.”

Neville knew he had convinced her when her eyes lit up. He stood and offered her his hand. “Come on, let’s go get you settled and we’ll grab some food.”

The following days were some of the happiest Neville could remember. He and Hermione spent the rest of the hols together—talking, laughing, and working in his greenhouse. He never wanted it to end.

One night after Hermione had retired to her room, Neville’s Gran smiled at him and whispered, “You’ve chosen well, Neville. She’s fierce, brilliant, and perfectly suited for you, my boy. I’ll be proud to call her granddaughter one day.”

Neville had sputtered and blushed, rushing to explain that they were only friends. Good friends, nothing more.

His Gran had chuckled at him. “Oh, I don’t expect it to happen right away, you daft man. Sometimes you have to work at the things that bring you the greatest joy. Take your time, but be sure to tell me before you propose.” She winked at him and bid him goodnight, leaving a flabbergasted Neville in her wake.

* * *

  
  


Neville and Hermione fell back into their routine when they returned to Hogwarts, spending the majority of their time together. Neville’s feelings for her continued to grow and he continued to keep them hidden, knowing she only saw him as a friend. Nothing more.

Though, there were a few times when Neville caught Hermione looking at him in such a way that he thought maybe, just maybe she might be starting to see him as _something_ _more_. But then the moment would pass and she would send him that charming, you-are-my-good-friend smile and Neville would stuff the rising hope back into its weathered box. 

The last months of their time at Hogwarts flew by and seemingly out of the blue, their N.E.W.T.s were upon them. Of course, Hermione tutted at Neville when he said this, reminding him that she had been telling him since September that he should be preparing. 

While not as out of control as she had been during O.W.L.s, Hermione had become a nervous, twitching ball of caffeine and extraneous information. She rarely put her notes down, not even to eat. Neville was concerned she even cast _Impervius_ on them while she showered. Not that Neville thought about her in the shower—much.

The afternoon before their first exam, Neville managed to convince Hermione to take a walk with him, telling her that the fresh air would do her some good and help sharpen her mind. She grumbled as he pulled her from the library, complaining about missing out on study time. By the time they had reached the Black Lake however, Hermione was smiling and breathing deeply. They sat under the tree that they had claimed as their own back in first year.

“You were right, Neville. I did need this.”

He nudged her with his shoulder and teased, “See, you should listen to me more often. I’m quite brilliant in my own right, you know.”

Hermione chuckled and nodded. “Yes. Yes, you are.” She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss this. Do you think someone will keep this old tree company for us?”

“I’m sure they will. It’s the best spot by the lake, after all. Lucky we found it as early as we did.”

She hummed in agreement but remained quiet. Neville looked up at the branches above him, remembering the hours they spent under them over the years. He was going to miss moments like this, just him and Hermione, whiling away the hours listening to the wind moving through the leaves and the water of the lake lapping against the shore. Looking down at Hermione, he wanted to capture the moment, all the moments, of them together here.

“Hey, Hermione. I’ve an idea. Turn around.”

She looked up at him, her large brown eyes reflecting confusion. He smiled and pulled out his wand, turning to the tree behind them. He muttered a spell under his breath and began to carve into the bark. Hermione grinned and joined him.

Moments later, NL and HG were etched into the trunk of the tree, side by side. Hermione ran her fingers over them, a soft smile on her face. She turned and met his eye, her face so serene and lovely. Before he realized what he was doing, Neville cupped her cheek and to his very pleasant surprise, she leaned into it. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowered his head to hers, his lips just inches away.

“There you two are!”

Neville and Hermione sprung apart, bright blushes on both their faces. Hannah and Ernie strolled towards them hand in hand—Hannah with an apologetic twist of her mouth and Ernie blissfully unaware of the moment he had shattered.

“You have to come see this! Someone’s charmed all the corridors on the ground floor—I saw a group of Hufflepuffs ice skating towards the Transfiguration classroom and some first years bouncing in the entry in front of the Great Hall. It’s mad!” He chuckled and waved them over. “Come on before McGonagall puts a stop to it!”

Neville and Hermione shared a shy look before he jumped up and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet. He held onto her for a moment longer than necessary, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. They followed Hannah and Ernie quietly, both looking anywhere but each other.

* * *

  
  


The next few days were so hectic, Neville barely saw Hermione. Some of their exams were at different times, so they only saw each other in passing and Hermione had taken to barricading herself at a table in the library, books piled so high around her she could not be seen.

The sheer relief Neville felt as he walked out of his last exam could not be overstated. N.E.W.T.s definitely lived up to their name. He felt he could sleep for a month. He made his way to the Eighth Year common room, contemplating taking a quick kip before dinner. Hermione’s last exam would be starting soon so he had time before he expected her back.

He was looking forward to the evening. The Eighth Years and a few Seventh Years were planning one last bash before the leaving feast the following day. He had convinced Hermione to come, not as his date despite his fervent desire for it to be so, but as one last chance to spend time together while they held the title of Hogwarts students. He planned to stay by her side the whole night.

He found her in the common room a few hours later. She was sitting in her favorite armchair and staring into the fire, a crumpled parchment in her hand. Plopping down into the chair next to her, Neville grinned and asked, “How was your last exam? I’m so bloody happy to be done with them.”

Hermione smiled at him as she tucked the parchment into her pocket. “I think I did well on it. I’m a bit unsure about my answer for question five, but I’m positive I did the equations correctly. Unless I should have used the Wenlock method instead of—” She cut off with a blush. “Sorry. I’ll stop before I spend the next two hours boring you with Arithmancy theory.”

Neville chuckled and stood. “I may not understand the subject as well as you, but I doubt I would be _completely_ bored. Besides, I don’t mind listening. You’ve listened to me go on about Herbology enough times.” He shrugged and gestured to the door. “Ready to head down for dinner?”

Hermione nodded and pushed herself up from the armchair before lacing her arm through his with a smile.

Hours later, the two of them were squished together on the sofa, laughing with their friends. Alcohol had been flowing steadily throughout the evening and everyone was feeling very fine indeed. 

Hermione was leaning into Neville’s side, her head tucked against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around one of his. Her eyes were slightly glazed and her cheeks were ruddy as she giggled. She never had been one to drink and the few glasses of wine she’d had went right to her head.

The night was winding down; couples were sneaking away into private corners and empty dorm rooms, some folks had succumbed to their drink and were huddled up on any soft surface they could find. One by one, their friends wandered off as well. Neville was about to ask Hermione if she was ready to retire when she jumped unsteadily to her feet.

Holding both hands out to him, she grinned widely. “Come for a walk with me!” 

“A walk? Hermione, it’s nearly two in the morning.” 

Neville couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable pout she shot him. 

“Please, Neville? One last adventure. Just the two of us.”

Well, how could he refuse her that? Standing to find himself a bit wobbly as well, Neville allowed Hermione to snatch his hand and drag him out of the common room.

They shared hushed laughs as they wound through the empty corridors and out into the night. As soon as she turned towards the Black Lake, Neville knew Hermione was leading him to their tree one final time.

They stood beneath the branches, watching the gentle waves of the lake shimmer in the starlight, Hermione’s hand still secure in his.

“It’s beautiful here.” She whispered.

Neville looked down at her and nodded. “Yes. Very beautiful.”

Hermione turned her eyes away from the lake to meet his and Neville wondered if she understood the true meaning of his words. 

She swallowed and took a step so she was in front of him, the hand not tangled with his lifting to rest on his shoulder. “Dance with me?”

Neville couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Always.”

They swayed back and forth as he hummed the strains of their song, slowly moving closer together. He cradled their joined hands against his chest. Her hand moved from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. His free hand slid from her waist to the small of her back.

It was perfect. _She_ was perfect.

The words that Neville had wanted to utter for so long bubbled up and he thought maybe this was the moment. Laying his head gently atop hers, he breathed out, “Hermione… I—”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” The blurted words rang loudly in his ears and Neville froze.

“I’m sorry. What?”

Pulling back so she could look up at him, Hermione rushed to explain. “I received a letter from the Australian Ministry earlier today. They found my parents and I’m leaving tomorrow to go to them.”

Neville blinked once. Twice. 

She was leaving. Tomorrow.

He shook himself and forced a smile. He knew how desperately she had been missing her parents. How the guilt of her actions before the war had been weighing on her. He should be happy for her. This is what she wanted, what she’d been hoping for. 

But he didn’t want her to leave. He selfishly wanted to keep her by his side. He’d had to watch her walk away once before and Merlin help him, he didn’t want to do it again.

Internally chastising himself, Neville focused on Hermione. She was biting her lip in that nervous way she had, her eyes reflecting so much of herself. He could see so many emotions there, but the one he latched onto was joyful hope. She had a chance to reunite with her family, something that would make her happy and therefore, he chose to be happy for her and ignore the ache the thought of her absence caused.

Neville’s tight grin smoothed into a genuine smile. “Your parents! Hermione, that’s great!” He pulled her into a tight hug. “I know you miss them. I’m so happy for you.”

Hermione buried her face into his chest and let out a watery laugh. “Thank you. I don’t know how long it will take time to recover their memories, but I’m optimistic.” She pulled back, her hands clutching to his shirt at his waist. Slow tears were trailing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just wanted to spend my last evening here with you. Have one last dance before I go.”

Wiping away a tear with his thumb, Neville smiled softly down at her. “Not the last dance ever, hopefully. I demand one upon your return.”

Hermione sniffled and huffed a laugh as she nodded. “Deal.” She pulled him into another tight hug. “I’m going to miss you so much, Neville. I’ll write as often as I can. Promise you’ll reply?”

“I promise.”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her arms still wrapped around his waist. A look that he was familiar with crossed her face. The one that meant she was debating something. She began to step away, then hesitated a moment. Before his mind could catch up, Hermione pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips softly to his.

The kiss only lasted for a moment, a small fraction of time that would be insignificant in most matters, but long enough that Neville was shattered from it. 

It was perfection and pain wound together so tightly he didn’t think he would ever think of this moment without experiencing fleeting feelings of both.

Neville hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he felt Hermione’s warmth move from him. His eyes shot open and met hers just as another tear fell from her lashes.

She was slowly backing away from him, her fingertips hovering over her lips. “Goodbye.”

The word was whispered so softly he barely heard it. 

Hermione spun on her heel and Neville watched as she walked away, his choked goodbye lost in the rustle of the leaves.

* * *

  
  


Neville fidgeted with his collar for the fifth time in the last half hour. He had never been comfortable in dress robes and wearing them for the proclaimed _Wedding of the Century_ was no exception.

Despite his desire to vanish his tie to the void forevermore, Neville forced himself to ignore his discomfort, clasping his hands behind his back. 

He stood at the edge of the expansive tent set in the back garden of the Burrow. Most of the guests had arrived and Neville, as an usher, was on hand to guide the last few stragglers to their seats.

He escorted a minuscule woman by the name of Mrs. Figg towards the front, where a seat had been specially reserved for her. She patted Neville’s hand after he assisted her into her chair and thanked him for being “such a sweet, young man.”

Neville had just enough time to make it to his own seat a few rows back when Harry, Ron, and Kingsley took their places under the arch at the front. Moments later, music filled the air and the wedding began.

The ceremony was brief, neither the bride nor groom wanting a long ordeal. The vows were heartfelt and the bonding beautiful. When the newly married couple kissed, the tent rang with cheers, laughter, and a few whistles. It was a joyous occasion that had been long in the making.

But as beautiful as the bride was, as happy as he was for the groom, Neville only had eyes for _her_.

Hermione stood proudly by her friends, watching with tear-filled eyes as her best friend married the love of his life.

It had been just over three years since he had seen her and she looked even more stunning than he remembered.

They had written, of course. At least once a week since she left, sometimes near daily. It had taken months before the healers had a breakthrough, the recovery of her parent’s memories a slow process. There had been setbacks, but she had sent a tear streaked letter nearly half a year later that they had done it. Hermione had her parents back.

That same letter also let Neville know that Hermione would be staying in Australia for the time being, wanting to remain close to her parents and to work on rebuilding their trust in her again.

Two months later another letter, this one written in a rushed hand, had Hermione excitedly recounting a recent conversation with one of the healers working with her parents. Hermione had great potential as a healer herself, according to the older witch in charge of the ward her parents had stayed in at Barnaby Hospital and had encouraged her to consider it as a career. 

Neville was not surprised when she next wrote that she had been accepted into healer training, the same healer offering to mentor her. He could barely contain his pride when Hermione graduated within a year, having taken an accelerated learning program, and then promptly beginning an internship at Barnaby.

Neville himself had not been idle while she was away. He had been accepted as an apprentice to a renowned Herbologist soon after graduation and had recently gained his Mastery. He would be taking over as Herbology professor at Hogwarts in the fall, his mentor Professor Sprout having decided to retire. Hermione’s gushing reply to this news had taken up nearly three feet of parchment.

But her last letter just the week before had left Neville ecstatic. In it, Hermione shared the news that she had enrolled in a Muggle university and would be starting medical school the next month. In London.

Hermione was coming home. Just in time for a wedding.

Neville knew Ginny and Harry had asked Hermione to be the Maid of Honor and he had been as anxious for the day to arrive as the bride and groom. And now she was here, arm in arm with Ron as they followed the newlyweds back down the aisle, her eyes locked with Neville’s until she was out of sight.

The reception was a splendid affair; food, drink, and good company were plentiful. The tent had been transformed into a banquet hall, tables skirting the edges of a dance floor. 

Neville watched Hermione all evening, her dance card seemingly full. He looked on as she was twirled around the room by an endless stream of friends happy to see her after so long. She laughed and spun and stumbled, a look of joy alighting her face. Neville was happy to stay back and wait for his moment, comfortably seated at a table in the corner. 

As one song began to fade into another, Hermione pulled away from George, breathless and flushed from the enthusiastic jig she had been guided through. Shaking her head with a laugh, she grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby floating tray and slipped out of the tent.

Neville drained the last of his drink and stood, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie as he followed.

He found her near the pond, her back to him as she looked out over the water, her drink in one hand and her shoes in the other. Neville stepped up beside her, hands in his pockets and eyes forward to the pond. “Hermione.”

He peeked at her out of the side of his eye and saw her grin as she sipped the last of her champagne before vanishing the glass. “Neville.”

A moment of silence and then they turned to each other, both laughing as they fell into each other's arms, holding tight. Hermione’s shoes tumbled to the ground with a dull thud.

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” She sighed, her arms squeezing even tighter causing Neville to grunt quietly. She immediately released him with a chuckle. “Sorry.”

Neville faked a wince and rubbed his side dramatically. “That’s okay. I didn’t need that rib.”

Hermione swatted at him lightly with a _tsk_.

He grinned at her, beyond happy to be with her again. To laugh and joke and just be themselves. “I’ve missed you, too. It’s so good to see you.”

They stood silently, grinning at each other. It wasn’t awkward or uneasy like one would expect, but pleasant and comforting like coming home after a long day. 

There were so many things Neville wanted to say. Things he had held in for years. He had planned out and practiced the words over and over, but now that he was here in front of her, none of them felt right. 

The only ones that came to mind were, “Dance with me.”

Hermione’s small hand slid into his and he pulled her closer. With a quick flick of his wand, their song began to play.

Memories of the last time they had danced played through his mind and Neville found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as they moved together. The soft glow of the moonlight allowed him to see her face, just shy of being able to see the smattering of freckles he knew graced her nose.

Hermione’s cheeks darken under his scrutiny and she ran a slightly shaky hand over her curls as she mumbled, “I can’t imagine what a mess I look like after all that dancing, especially after George was done with me.”

Neville shook his head. To him, she looked radiant, gorgeous… “Perfect.” He whispered and leaned down, his lips nearly brushing hers. “Hermione, you look perfect.”

Her breath hitched, her wide eyes locked on his, and he knew. This was his moment. And he took it.

Cupping her cheek with one hand and pressing her against him with the other, Neville kissed Hermione. 

Softly at first, gently pressing his lips to hers, hoping she could feel how he cared for her. Then his lips slid to pillow hers, opening slightly to nibble lightly on her bottom lip, hoping she could feel his longing for her. Then with a shaky breath, he softly ran the tip of his tongue along her lip and when she parted her lips in response, he deepened the kiss. He poured his desire for her into the kiss, hoping she would understand his need for her, his adoration for her, his love for her. 

Because despite the years since he’d last seen her, despite living half a world away, despite all the reasons why Neville Longbottom was not good enough for Hermione Granger; he loved her. Deeply, unequivocally, completely loved her.

And he needed her to know.

The soft, unhappy whine that sounded from Hermione when he pulled back was music to his ears and if it didn’t feel imperative that he share his feelings with her right that moment, Neville would have happily kissed her again and very likely would never stop.

“Hermione, I… I need to tell you that…I need you to know...” Neville groaned in frustration at his muddled words and took a deep breath, resting his forehead against hers, both hands cupping her face.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and tried again. “You mean so much to me. You were my first friend, the first person who saw me as more than a bumbling idiot, the first person who made me _feel_ like more. Since we first met on the train, you have been the bright spot of my days. It took me a long time to see it, to understand how I truly felt about you.”

Neville opened his eyes, seeing Hermione’s shimmering with unshed tears. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you for years. I know you deserve better than me. You deserve the best and that’s not me, but I can’t hide this anymore. I love you, Hermione, and I just needed you to know.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sob, her tears finally breaking free as she choked out, “You idiot.”

She pulled him back down and kissed him hard, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck to pull herself even closer. She broke the kiss moments later, words rushing out as soon as she took a breath. “I’ve waited years to hear you say that. I always hoped but never knew for sure… I love you, too. More than I can say.”

Elation, shock, relief, and unadulterated victory roared through Neville as he lifted and twirled Hermione, unable to keep back the joyous laugh or the overwhelming rush of love for the witch in his arms at her delighted squeal.

She loved him.

_She loved him._

Had more beautiful words ever been spoken? Neville didn’t think so.

They stayed in each other’s arms the rest of the night; dancing, talking, kissing, loving.

Years later, as Neville looked down into the loving eyes of his beautiful and sweet wife, he would think back to that night they danced under the stars. His thoughts of her that night and every night since still held true.

She was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Their' song is What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.


End file.
